I sit on a hard bench in the park;
The spendthrift sun throws down its gold.
The wind is strong but not too cold;
Daffodils shimmy, jerk and peck.
Two dogs like paper bags are blown
Fast and tumbling across the green;
Far off laborious lorries groan.
I am not lonely, though alone.
I feel quite well. A spot-check on
The body-work and chassis finds
There's not much wrong. No one minds
At fifty going the speed one can.
No gouty twinge in toe; all limbs
Obedient to such mild demands
I make. A hunger-pang reminds
I can indulge most gastric whims.
Ears savour sounds. My eyes can still
Relish this sky and that girl's legs;
My hound of love sits up and begs
For titbits time has failed to stale.
Fifty scored and still I'm in.
I raise my cap to dumb applause,
But as I wave I see, appalled,
The new fast bowler's wicked grin.